Salvation
by RulerOfAllThatIsEvilChiFlowers
Summary: A Maddison Short Story. Post Addek and the becoming of Maddison. What if both Addison and Mark made better choices? A Three Part FanFiction. Addison/Mark #Maddison COMPLETED.
1. Salvation (1)

**_Post Addek . . . . A Maddison FanFiction_**

* * *

 **Salvation (1)**

* * *

She tried to ignore it at first, chalks it down to a stomach bug and being tired (after all, _the job is more than demanding._ ) and being stressed for the downpour that's now become her life ( _the eleven years of marriage she've just destroyed, the constant thought and worry of who Mark's screwing._ ). But it got harder - to ignore it that is. Especially when her boobs are this sore and the smell of coffee makes her want to vomit and every fucking second of every fucking hour is making her want to fucking cry.

She has to make it work with Mark, she thinks, because she doesn't want to believe that she had just ruined her marriage with the love of her life for one night of stupidity, a lapse of judgment. She'll tolerate his infidelities since, after all, she deserves to be stomped on with what she'd done to Derek. _Embarrassed_. She'll tolerate for what it's worth because she has to, because everyone at the hospital knows, because they're all talking - whispering - and they're all laughing at her.

 _Behind her back, of course._

But then, she can't and so, she permanently ended it with him over a week ago when she grew tired of his treachery. And when she caught him that afternoon in the throes of passion ( _yes, yes, karma's a fucking bitch! She knows!_ ) with an ER nurse, she snapped. She's had it and she knows she can't pretend that she's okay with whatever he's doing to her and them anymore.

A laughingstock, that's what she's reduced to now. She'll be an even greater mockery when this plausible pregnancy happens to be positive.

And so, when she finally accepted that she's never going to wake to Derek's kisses or the sound of him clattering in the kitchen because he's no longer there in the morning, no longer a constant presence in her life like he has been, day in and day out, she made the trip to the drug store like a shamed teenager, grabbing one test at first, then thinking better of it and adding a couple more to her basket. She made sure she has different brands ( _covering all bases in a bid to be thorough in this upcoming conclusion._ ) and then has the good sense to add a few candy bars and a bottle of water to her purchase - if only that could make her feel better about the fact that she's possibly ( _ok, most likely._ ) pregnant.

The cashier rang up the tests and treats and water and throughout the whole ordeal, Addison cast her eyes downwards, felt her skin flame up and prick with tiny beads of sweat, even though she's always been the one who doesn't give a shit about what people thinks ( _ok, maybe she gives the tiniest of shits._ ). Funny ( _or not, really._ ) that she's suddenly developed this worry.

The cashier doesn't seem bothered though, just shoves each item into a bag idly, like she doesn't even recognise the significance of this moment, of someone on the verge of discovering whether or not their life is about to change. Her fingers jabs at the cash register until the sum total of $38.94 is displayed on the screen in red numbers so bright that nobody in their right mind could ever miss them.

Expensive really, to determine whether or not you've accidentally gotten knocked up at the worst possible time.

Still, Addison quickly handed over the two crisp twenty dollar bills, takes the change without really looking at the cashier and gabbles a quick _"thanks"_ before making her exit.

The bag seems to burn her hands on the walk back to the brownstone and yet when she reaches her front door, unlocks it and slips inside, she drops it onto the counter, then turn away without even a second glance.

Finally buying the tests is one thing. Taking them is something else entirely.

* * *

She avoids the bag all day. It's her day off ( _yay_ _her_!). Tiptoes around it like if she's too loud, it'll turn into some sort of roaring monster and wake up the neighbours - not that they'd be asleep at this time anyway.

She made her meals, an avocado and eggs bagel that she doesn't eat for lunch; ravioli from the freezer that tastes wrong for dinner. And in all of the time, she carefully avoids eye contact with the bag until finally, around eight in the evening, her legs takes her to it out of their own accord and now, she's staring down the boxes, one pink, one blue, one lilac, like a little pastel palette of truth waiting to be revealed.

All three boxes go with her to the bathroom and she opens the pink one first - no real reason other than it's the one on top. Foregoing the instructions ( _this is her_ field, _her specialty and besides, it's pretty obvious. Pee. Then, wait._ ) she rips open the packaging and huffs as she pulls down her jeans and panties, landing on the toilet with a soft thud.

It takes a good few seconds - peeing for a purpose is tougher than it seems - but Addison knows the stick will give her the answer after the designated two minutes is up. She flushes the toilet and sets the stick on the counter while washing her hands. There's no point in setting the timer - she'll get her result when she gets it, simple as that.

 _That's life._

She can't honestly say she's surprised when there are two clear lines forming.

Still, she opens the blue box next and repeats her actions. This time, it's a plus sign.

She already knows what the next one is going to say - in truth, she'd known well before it was confirmed by these two tests - but she opened the box anyway, peeing then washing then waiting until there's another plus to match the previous one, and then all the bile rises in her throat at once.

It's lucky she's so close to the toilet already. Any further away and she'd be cleaning the floor.

Once her heaves have subsided and she's feeling a little woozy, Addison rises to a stand slowly - careful not to jolt her stomach which, now that three little plastic sticks have confirmed, it seems set on shouting out to the world that she's pregnant.

Said sticks goes in the bin - she's not sentimental like that and it seems kind of repulsive that she'd keep them as proof that there's a child growing inside of her. It's going to be pretty obvious in a few months anyway.

She pauses for a moment on her way out of the bathroom, trying to determine exactly how she feels about it - about being pregnant. She's pretty sure there should be an overriding emotion one way or the other but there isn't. It's just... _is_. She's pregnant and it's a fact. Not an emotion. Not good, not bad.

There would be an emotion if Derek was here, she thinks suddenly, abruptly, the thought catching her off guard. If he were here and they were _them_ ( _without the fucking with a particular someone on said favourite sheets; the space that he needs, space away from her - so much fucking space in this goddamn house that she aches sometimes._ ) she'd be scared and he'd be so overwhelmingly happy that she'd be happy too. _Really happy_. The kind of happy that makes you smile for no reason.

But Derek's not here. He's not here, sharing this experience with her and maybe she should have called him, but she knows he's not going to answer, she knows she's not going to be that girl who makes the father of her child come home because he has some responsibility to _her_.

 _Well, he doesn't._

He has a responsibility to the _child_ that's growing inside of her, _yes_ , a child who's just starting its life in a world without images, and she knows he'll be here if it comes to it, if he'd just tell her where he is, if he'd answer her calls, messages, emails, if he's ever coming back to New York at all. If whatever higher power there is decides not to take it from her before it even arrives in the world - because Addison knows that's a possibility too.

And at that, she made her way to the living room, turning off the lights in succession because tiredness has suddenly hit her like a freight train and all she wants to do is crawl under the covers and sleep.

Well, that's a black and white version of what she wants to do. The technicolour version - the one in high definition - wants Derek's arms and Derek's smell and Derek's lips against her temple.

But her life is only playing the black and white one tonight though, and she made her peace with that, undressing quickly before pulling on one of his old t-shirts with a pair of lace panties - not because it was his favourite thing for her to sleep in ( _she's not a_ _masochist._ ) - but because the feel of the cotton against her breasts is more comfortable than anything else.

Once she's settled under the covers, she reached for her phone, unlocked the screen and typed out six different messages. None of which she sends him.

It isn't fair to do that, to catch him off guard when he's needing his space from her, trying to forget her, trying to figure them out ( _she'd really like to believe that._ ). But she ought to tell Mark too because it could very well be his baby ( _she now feels like those desperate women on Maury, dreading to hear the words "You are not the father."_ ).

 _No, she decides._ She's not going to tell Derek. Because he has no concern in all this. Because she knows it's not his. Because the timing's all wrong for it to be his.

 _Because life's just not that generous._

She'll tell Mark when it's the right time.

* * *

Not surprisingly, the right time doesn't come.

She thinks it does, almost three weeks later when she's in the staff lounge, just kind of, sort of standing there for no apparent reason, even when the smell of coffee is making her want to vomit. There wasn't really any excuse for her to be in there.

Mark joins her, clutching a box of something somewhat sheepishly with a gruff. "Hey."

"Hey." she smiles, moving out of the way so he can grab a mug, even though she could've easily passed one to him from where she was standing.

They're civil and mature with one another because that's what grownups do. They can be friends without dwelling in the past.

"Thought you might like this." He hands her a box of chamomile tea and she looks up at him, her eyes asking the questions that her lips don't. "You said you're trying not to drink as much coffee." he adds, by way of explanation for the box of Harney and Sons seated in her grasp. "And chamomile helps with the stomach flu."

 _Ah_ , the lie she'd told him when he found her vomiting in the bathroom the other day.

Everything about him in that moment made her want to tell him. But then, she looked at him, really looked closely, studying him, she thinks about how he'd tell their Chief because he'd want her to take things lightly, and so decides against it.

By the time she's done with her four o'clock scheduled hysterectomy with bilateral oophorectomy, she's so tired she can barely stand, let alone summon the energy to tell him everything she probably should if they're going to hash all of this out. Instead, he left the hospital with some nurse from paediatrics and she goes home to the brownstone she _shared_ with her husband.

 _Past tense._

She's too tired even to dwell on that now.

The next day is Friday, and Addison decides the right time almost definitely isn't going to come. All she knows is she doesn't want to tell him in the locker room or at the hospital where she could risk chatty nurses overhearing them, and so she waits until their shifts are over to ask if he's doing anything tomorrow.

"I don't have any plans." he tells her, and by the way he's pulling her hips closer to his, he's reading her invitation all wrong.

She smacked his hands away, "Stop it, Mark. Be serious for once."

"Ok. Ok. Sorry. Why? You want to do something?"

"We could...catch up," she suggests stupidly, like the term is enough to describe what she's going to tell him. As though being pregnant with his child might just require a casual mention of...nonchalance ( _you know, no biggie.)._

"Catch up." he raised a brow cockily like he always does. "We could catch up right now." he swept her long red hair aside so he could feast on the exposed soft skin of her neck.

And she allowed herself to get lost in a haze of regret but thought better of it because that's how this all started.

"Mark," she pulls back, "Seven. Tomorrow. I'll cook."

"You can't cook." he grins knowingly. Except, he doesn't know her. Not properly, not anymore. Doesn't know about this new development that's wreaking havoc with her body at all times of the day.

"I can cook." she reaffirms, like the slight suggestion she's going to fuck up the food is an insult intended to break her. And she knows it isn't but for some stupid reason, it stings. Like, if she can't even get the food right, how can she be someone's mother?

"Sounds great." he replies, reminding her that this is that conversation which includes that half-grin of his that simultaneously melts and turns her on at the same time.

"Seven."

" _Seven_."

Dr. Shapiro from Ortho asks if she'd like to go get a drink with him and Dr. Sutorius from Oncology and she makes an excuse about not wanting to ruin her good work on the coffee-front with booze.

 _Nobody suspects anything._

She figures she must be a better liar than she gives herself credit for.

* * *

His arrival at the brownstone ( _it's still too hard to think of it as hers now. Derek had contacted her yesterday, said that he's filing for divorce._ _She nodded._ _She figured. She accepted. He can't see her but she still nodded.)_ is signalled by three clear raps at the door and she calls out that it's open because she's got a dish of enchiladas in her hands that she's busy sliding onto the shelf in the oven.

He takes his shoes off by the door like he always used to, lines them up and straightens hers while he's at it before removing his jacket to hang on the set of hooks.

"Smells good." he tells her. _Impressed_. "Mexican?"

"Enchiladas."

He doesn't reply to that with a word, but makes some sort of appreciative noise as he reaches for one of the tortilla chips in a bowl on the counter - the same counter he'd fucked her senseless before she concluded to herself that they're just not compatible for one another.

"You'll spoil your dinner." she says with a small semblance of a grin.

Mark pops a final chip into his mouth, heads for the cupboard with the glasses and brushes past her on his way to the sink. It's all too familiar - him helping himself to the things he needs, the _three_ of them here, in this damn brownstone, happy and young - that suddenly, Addison has an internal freak-out and has to remind herself to keep calm.

She does, eventually, and he doesn't seem to have noticed. He takes the dish out of the oven when the timer sounds because she's busy breathing through a period of nausea in the bathroom and hoping he won't notice that either - not when she's gotten this close to telling him on her own. By the time she returns to the living room, he's dished out two very generous portions and Addison's busy regretting her choice of dish because a rich tomato dish is almost definitely not going to sit well for her.

They eat - or, more accurately, Mark eats and Addison pushes the food around with her fork until he sets his down, clears his throat and asks her what's wrong with a simple, "Addie?"

That breaks her. That simple use of her nickname and she thinks for so long that she hasn't known what to feel, that the overwhelming sadness at the fact that none of this is how it should be is simply too much. She cries for the timing of it. She cries for being embarassed to buy the tests - appropriately embarrassed for creating a life with a man that's not her husband, with a man she doesn't truly loves ( _she loves him but she's not in love with him._ ). She cries because he missed the part of taking the tests with her and they can't get that back, even though she knows that it wouldn't change anything. There are tears too, for the realisation of how badly she wants this baby, even if the timing isn't right, even if it's not with the right person.

"Hey." he soothes, running his hand over hers even though he has no clue why she's crying. He probably concludes it's because of the mess they've created together, she thinks, and it is, _yes_ , but it's so much more than that and she'll never be able to tell him because it's not fair.

She quickly gathers herself, wiping at her tears with her free hand and tugs free of her other hand from under his. The skin feeling cold without his palm warming it.

"You okay?" he asks, and they both know he means right now. _Is she okay right now?_ Because neither of them are okay in the grand scheme of things.

"I'm pregnant." is her answer.

Addison doesn't think she's ever heard a silence so deafening.

* * *

 _ **My first Maddison story. Please let me know what you think! I love your reviews!! And I hope you enjoyed.**_


	2. Salvation (2)

_**Thank you all for your sweet and encouraging reviews. I truly appreciate them all and I'm so glad you enjoyed. So without further ado, here's the second part.**_

 _ **Post Addek. . . .A Maddison FanFiction**_

* * *

 **Salvation (2)**

* * *

Predictably, Mark makes her tell the Chief of their impending arrival because she shouldn't be callously standing on her feet, performing surgeries after surgeries after surgeries ( _lately, that's what her schedule looked like._ ) and she understands that his concerns are justified, that she should take things lightly now, so she opt to not argue with him because she knows how risky the first trimester can be, especially with her age. But it doesn't make it any easier to look at the boards every morning and to see that Chief had given most of her surgeries away to the pretty and blonde Dr. Emily Thorne ( _a daily reminder of why this pregnancy will be her last_.).

There's a slight swell to her stomach now. It's hardly noticeable to the eye, but her pencil skirts are tight and her blouse don't tuck in like they used to. Mark's fascinated with it - her ever changing body - but he doesn't voice his fascination aloud. _She knows, though._ She can tell by the way his eyes linger on her when she's standing and how his gaze fixes on her midsection first when they're in each other's presence.

He hovers. Brings her so many mugs of chamomile tea that Addison spends half her shifts in the bathroom and it would be annoying, she thinks, if it wasn't the only time she really gets to share this with him.

He's changed, she can tell. _Sweet_ ( _he's always irresistibly sweet, but this time, he's sweet with no lingering intentions._ ) _Faithful_. He leaves the hospital alone ( _no more slutty nurses to stress about._ ) for the past month and finally, she thinks, finally he has matured. For once, he's making an actual rational decision. Not fooling around like he always does. He actually seems as though he's trying. For her. _For_ _them_. And this time, she really thinks they can make _them_ work.

She asks him if he wants to go with her for the first scan. She knows he will but it still makes her feel sad that she has to actually ask, because this ( _their fucked up situation_.) wasn't what she had planned for her life. She never thought she would have to ask the father of her child to go to an appointment with her because she always thought she'd be having a child with the love of her life, the man she had married. Because it would have already been implied. Because if she wasn't pregnant with another man's baby, but instead with her husband's ( _soon-to-be-ex-husband._ ) and if _that_ thing that had happened never happened, she would just tell Derek when the appointment was and they would write it on the calendar and he would save it in his BlackBerry and they would go and ask the Chief together for an hour or so off from work.

But she does have to ask Mark. Tentatively too, like she's afraid there might even be the smallest chance he'd say ' _he can't'_ or ' _he's_ _busy'_ or ' _he needs to be at surgery'_. And of course, there isn't because when she asked, he looked at her like he's touched. Like he's grateful she's bothered to include him in this - the first sighting of their child.

They sit together in the waiting room at an OB/GYN clinic ( _she's not stupid enough to make an appointment in their hospital._ ) and when they call her name, Mark stands as she does, placing a hand at the base of her spine like he has done before at various points in their relationship. The images flashing before Addison's eyes like a slideshow of everything they've ever experienced. She likes the feel of his hand there; strong and protective, but gentle. He's always so gentle when it comes to her.

She winces at the feel of the cold gel on her stomach, _the irony_ , and she thinks she hears a chuckle escape Mark's lips. It's the first genuine one she's heard in so long and it makes her smile too. The obstetrician moves the transducer around a little and that's when they hear it, the rhythmic thudding of their baby's heartbeat. Tears prick in Addison's eyes which she's not ready for, and even though she've heard those fast drums a billon times before, she has never heard one so musical, so soothing. This is their baby's heartbeat. _It's different when it's yours._ It's moving and life changing and just so beautiful. _Theirs_. She didn't expect a sound so simple could do so much damage to her. Maybe Mark notices, or maybe he doesn't, but she feels his hand reach for hers, lacing their fingers as one and smoothing his thumb over her skin in comfort and something else, she thinks. _Gratitude_ , possibly.

"Look, Addie." he urges gently, squeezing her hand so she'll turn her head towards the screen where a grainy black and white picture of their child is displayed. She can't see very well through the tears that are clouding her vision but she can see enough to know it already looks perfect. _Healthy_. So this must be what all her patients were raving about and she's thankful she get to experience this because she has always wondered what it would feel like to be on this end of the chair.

They just stare together for however much time passes until the doctor asks whether they want a print out, a question which Mark answers for them both; _of course_. They get their photos and book the next appointment and she walks out of the room with his hand on the base of her spine again and for a short while, it all feels devastatingly perfect. And then, they head outside to the car and Mark asks whether she's sleeping alright and it all comes crashing down then and there since she's again reminded of how they got here. _The cheating. The storming out. The shouting. The shoving. The cold rain. The never getting to see him ever again because the sight of her makes him nauseous._ But that isn't really the problem anymore ( _she needs to move on like Derek has._ ) because he shouldn't have to ask that - he should already know the answer to it because they should be sharing a bed like a conventional couple would ( _but then again, they're not exactly together. Just having a baby together._ ), falling asleep together and waking up together when she needs to pee three times a night.

"I'm sleeping fine." she says sternly, and he just looks at her for a moment. He doesn't say anything more and they head back to the hospital _together_.

But not together.

* * *

One day, a few weeks later when they're alone in the break room and she's pouring him a cup of coffee because she's the one closest to the machine, Mark asks whether she would like to come to one of his support group meetings. And when she quirks her brows in a question because she has no idea that he's even going to such meetings in the first place, he follows it up with a quick, "You don't have to if you're busy or tired or...you don't have to." but she touches his arm lightly, gets him to stop talking and look at her because of course she wants to go. She's just glad that he's the one taking the initiative to better himself and it's not her who's forcing him to.

She thinks she's prepared for this meeting.

It turns out, she's anything but.

It's a warm summer evening when Mark parks his Macan on some quiet, unassuming street that has trees filtering the sunlight so it's spilling over the asphalt in golden shards. His hand isn't resting on her back this time because he's in front and she's toeing behind him, waiting to see this world of his she hasn't been a part of.

They take seats on hard plastic chairs that are set up in a circle and Addison slides hers closer so it's touching his, so there isn't any space between them. She's not sure whose benefit she does it for but it doesn't matter, really. Mark rests a hand on her knee, spanning out his fingers so he covers her bare skin entirely with just his palm and although she expects him to, he doesn't remove it. Not until it's his turn to talk, at least.

She listens through stories of self-harm and mental and emotional illnesses and alcohol abuse, of families being torn apart because of addiction and of addicts themselves and she can't help but wonder which category Mark belongs to. When it's his turn to talk, she sucks in a deep breath, waiting to hear along without everyone else, his story.

"I'm Mark." he tells the group in a shaky voice. Tears prick and sting her eyes but she fights them back because it's not fair for her to be the one upset. "This is uh...this is my first time telling this story."

Addison's throat feels like sandpaper and it's near impossible to swallow. His hand leaves her knee to rub harshly at the back of his neck and she can feel the tension radiating off of him. But she waits. Waits to hear what he's going to tell them.

And she isn't ready. Isn't ready to hear how he can't sleep at night; how, as a child, his own parents would go out at night, leaving him to care for himself, how, till to this day, he would turn on all the TV and every light in his apartment and even those in the closets, but still wouldn't be able to sleep, how Derek's mother saw how lonely he was and encouraged Derek to bring him home, how Derek become ( _then changes to became - past tense. A figurative blow to her stomach._ ) his brother. Isn't ready to discover how he sabotaged his relationship with the one woman he truly loves because he's too damaged for her, how he's afraid that he'll only end up hurting her, how she's too perfect for him, how he's scared of loving her because she's everything he's ever dreamed of and more. She isn't ready to hear how he uses sex and alcohol to fill that void and emptiness that seems to stem from being neglected as a child, how he later found out that the only cure to his insomnia was her being in his arms, pressed up against his chest with her head tucked under his chin. And she isn't ready either, for his final confession, that feeling like this has torn him away from the woman he loves, who needs him to be there when he can't be, and he feels so guilty about all of it because he's absolutely petrified he's going to ruin the good things he's got in his life. And he wants to go _home_ , he tells them. Home with her so he can do all the dad-to-be stuff he's supposed to do like buy pickles and hold her hair back when she's throwing up and argue about baby names. He can't do that until he's better, because he knows he needs to be in it one hundred percent.

Addison doesn't stay for the rest of the meeting.

She makes it out of the doors and onto the sidewalk before she all but collapses against the wall, covering her mouth with her hand in a failed bid to stop the sobs escaping. He's only seconds behind her, wrapping his arms around her body so tightly that he's the only life that's holding her up and she breathe him in as they both cry for the way things are.

"I never knew." she chokes out between gasps for air. "You were in all that pain and I never knew."

"I wouldn't have let you find out." he tells her, smoothing her hair so she's tingling all over and wishing they never have to break apart.

She's not sure how long they stand there like that, but she knows it isn't long enough.

* * *

Addison feels their child move inside of her one night when she's lying on the couch, a spoon in one hand and a tub of mint chocolate chip in the other. It's barely even a movement - more of a flutter really, like a butterfly's delicate wings brushing against her skin. But she feels it.

She tells Mark and there's a strange lilt in his voice that she doesn't want to overanalyse. And instead of him lifting her shirt so he can place a hand on her stomach in the hopes of feeling it too - even though she knows he wouldn't yet be able to - he asks her to describe it for him because he's not here with her. She wants him to move in with her and she wants to move in with him. Anywhere, really. She really doesn't mind ( _preferably Manhattan because she's not exactly that adventurous._ ). And anywhere but this brownstone because it's filled with memories - bittersweet - and it's awfully weird to be raising a child in the house that she shared with her ex-husband for the past eleven years.

She got everything in the divorce - their brownstone, their estate in Connecticut, their beach house in the Hamptons and even his 1966 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray and all he wants in return is for her to stay away from him - she can't ever forget his distraught and pained face at the realisation that she's withchild. He didn't ask and she knows it's only because he doesn't want to upset a pregnant woman. Even then he's still calm and cool - Derek.

 _You two are just perfect for each other. Have a great life with your boyfriend, Addison._

 _Boyfriend?_

She cringed at that. _Horrible_. It sounds so wrong. She haven't had a boyfriend since her first year of residency and that's because her last boyfriend became her husband for eleven years.

So, a new house or a new apartment - _a new beginning -_ because all she wants is for Mark to be with her. Where he should be. But he's on a bed in an on-call room at the hospital and Addison's just willing him to conquer this new-him so they can be better together because now, she knows they'll be okay.

"I wi-" she starts, then abruptly stops because, _yeah_ , it's okay for her to wish he was here beside her - and they both know that she does - but it's not okay to voice it.

"I know." he hums sadly over the phone, because he knows what she means. Doesn't need for her to finish that sentence. "Me too."

When they hang up, she jams the lid back onto the tub of ice cream, getting her fingers all sticky in the process, and puts it back into the freezer. The spoon goes into the sink and will remain there overnight because she couldn't care less that it's dirty. Mark would, even though he doesn't look to be the type of guy who'd be bothered by one innocent spoon. But out of the three of them, he's always been Mr. OCD. He'd roll his eyes and smile at her but wash it up anyway, drying it with a towel before popping it back in the cutlery drawer.

She cries at that. At the simplicity of the domestic life they're missing out on.

Then she goes to bed, rests a hand on her ever-expanding stomach and cries some more and she cries because Derek's words hurt her more than she'd like to admit.

A few days later, the Chief puts Mark on forced furlough because he's not in his best shape ( _it's so unlike Mark to be anything but flawless._ ) and it's pretty obvious too because he looks absolutely terrible - all bloodshot eyes and grey skin - and Addison can't help but feel guilty about it all, like if she somehow could've kept this baby a secret for longer, he wouldn't feel under pressure to get better and change so soon. She knows he's not there yet, but he's trying desperately to be, and that's probably holding up his betterment further. Keeping her pregnancy a secret now would be damn near impossible, she thinks, especially with the size of her bump. There's no way she could hide behind her lab coat now.

And so she watches from the catwalk as Chief tells him to take a few days off and he argues for a while but succumbs in the end and hangs his head in shame like he's failed them all, and she wants nothing more than to throw herself at him, wrap him in her arms and promise that it'll all be okay. She thinks ( _no, she knows._ ) it will be, eventually.

But eventually seems to be a long time in coming.

* * *

None of them hear from him for a week or so. He had texted her over the course of a few days, letting her know how he's doing, but he wants to be sure there's real, measureable progress before he sees her again.

Sometimes his level of determination frightens her. He's so serious that it's hard to believe that not too long ago, he's a cocky, arrogant and egotistical manwhore. He's anything but now.

 _So sweet_. He's just too genuinely sweet with her.

Addison's not sure she cares about him getting to that one hundred percent anymore because somehow, all of this space is suffocating and she just wants Mark to be here, in whatever capacity that might be.

She can handle it, _him_. She can tolerate anything for him now.

But one day - the day before her next scan, incidentally - he calls her to ask if he can come over. And he does - come over that is - with some food from her favourite restaurant and a serious supply of Sour Patch Kids because that's been her craving lately and somehow, without even being there, he knows this.

She knows she probably shouldn't, but she's kind of done with _shouldn't_ for now, and maybe she can blame it on the hormones ( _even though really, she knows it probably has absolutely nothing to do with them._ ) but she flings herself at him. Rocks into him so hard he has to brace himself against both of their weight but he catches her - _of course he does_ \- and tucks her head on the crook of his neck as she twists slightly so her protruding stomach can be accommodated into the equation. Mark chuckles softly at that, releasing her only so he can place a palm on either side of the neat bump sitting atop of her jeans.

"I wish I hadn't missed so much of this." he says softly that it's almost a whisper.

Addison only nods. She's not sure she can get any words out.

"Can I?" he asks, in reference to lifting her shirt; to inspecting the results of their handiwork those months ago when she was trying to numb the world out and forget everything with pleasure. Craving both pain and pleasure all at once. The fact he asks though, brings a lump to her throat because he shouldn't have to. He doesn't have to.

"Of course, Mark." she chokes.

They stand exactly where they are in the hallway and he gently lifts her shirt, folding it neatly so it rests on top of her stomach and he can openly stare at the way her skin has stretched and pulled over the last five months to create their baby's home.

"You look beautiful, you know." Mark tells her. "I've been meaning to tell you that. Should've told you sooner."

It's a little intense, the way he's looking at her. Like he's committing everything to memory, just in case. She just waits, ready to stand there as long as he needs, but after a few minutes he unfolds her shirt, being just as gentle as he'd been initially, and presses a soft kiss against her hair.

He grabs the previously forgotten food from where it's currently residing in a bag on the floor, and takes it to the kitchen counter to dish out onto plates. They eat tagliatelle alfredo at the table with the low hum of the television in the background and it all feels so right that Addison thinks this has to be the start of things getting better. Surely nobody would be so cruel as to give them this snapshot and then take it all away.

They move to the couch once they've finished eating and Mark has tidied the plates away, washing and stacking and drying so there's no evidence of their meal left aside from the smell of garlic and the happy fullness of each of their stomachs. He settles down next to her and she shifts so that her weight is leaning on him, so he'll adjust his arm to fit round her shoulders and pull her closer. He does all of those things and then proceeds to run his fingers through the soft waves of her hair as he flicks through the channels on the TV until they settle on the Yankees game.

She can feel every one of his exhaled breaths on her head as the cheers from the fans in the background fade to a simple buzz and her eyes fight to close. She won't let them though, just continues to drag her lids upwards so she won't fall asleep. She's not sure she could bare it if she woke up and he is no longer there.

"Stop it." he says gently, laying his lips against the skin of her temple.

"Stop what?"

"Fighting sleep. You're exhausted."

"I'm fine." she mumbles, wriggling impossibly closer so she can burrow into him.

"Go to sleep, Addie." he says again, a little more insistent this time. "I'll be here when you wake up."

She just about manages the next word before her eyelids does close. "Promise?"

His hands go to her chin, tilting it towards him and she knows what's coming next, craves it more than oxygen. His lips, gentle and warm and impossibly soft, seals over hers so that the quiet sigh she emits tumbles out of her mouth and straight into his.

"Promise."

As promised, Mark is there when she wakes up, watching her with that lazy smile she loves so much.

"Hey." she greets, twisting and turning in order to stretch out her long limbs and shift her weight so he can free the dead arm she knows he'll have.

"Hey."

"What time is it?"

"A little after ten."

She startles at that, figuring she's been out for at least two hours, during which he could have left. _Could have._ But didn't.

"I should go." he tells her, bursting the bubble she knows had to break at some point. She just doesn't want that point to be now.

"I don't want you to."

He drops a kiss to her forehead and sighs. "I don't want to either. But the last thing I want to do is take one step forward and two steps back."

It sounds pretty logical, Addison has to admit, but it doesn't mean she likes it.

"I'll pick you up in the morning." he tells her. "The scan's at ten, right?"

He remembered. Of course he does. "Right."

"Then I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay." It leaves her lips as something of a grumble, but he smiles and offers his lips against hers one more time so she ends up repeating herself, only this time, a little softer. " _Okay_."

He's almost out of the door when the words leave his lips - dry and desperate. "I love you, Addison."

It takes a sharp inhale for her not to cry then. "I love you too."

That's when she knew she no longer loves him, she's _in_ love with him.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading! I decided to make this a 3 part story. Soooo, what do you guys think so far? I hope you enjoyed! Please REVIEW! Oh, and if you guys haven't already, please go check out my Addek story, it's called** Karma._


	3. Salvation (3)

**So, here's the last part, guys. I'm sad that this story is coming to an end. :(**

 **Be sure to leave a review! :)**

 **Post Addek. . . .A Maddison FanFiction**

* * *

 **Salvation (3)**

* * *

The following morning, it's a smell that wakes Addison before the noise of police sirens and fire engines hooting or residents slamming their doors none-too-delicately ( _it's New York City, after all._ ). Bacon, she detects, and possibly eggs. There's coffee too and maybe even... _pancakes?_

For a moment, she's unsure as to whether she actually has woken up, or whether she's on that precipice between slumber and the real world and her mind just wants to keep her in _fantasyland_ a little while longer. But then she strains an ear and actually hears the bacon sizzling. One eye slowly creeps open, then the other, until she registers that, _yes_ , she's in _her_ brownstone, but the breakfast thing is actually happening. And there's only one person she knows who would cook a breakfast like that.

 _Derek isn't a bacon and eggs kind of guy and so is she. She's more of a bagel and cream cheese kind of gal._

She wishes her first port of call didn't have to be the bathroom, but it is and so she tries to go as fast as she can, as though the fact that Mark is in the kitchen cooking breakfast might suddenly turn to fiction if she's too slow in seeing it for herself.

It doesn't turn to fiction. He's there when she pads down the hallway in silky pyjamas. A towel slung over his shoulder and a spatula in hand, looking like he's never belonged anywhere other than where he is now.

"You're cooking me breakfast." she smiles, inching towards him with a dimple-displaying grin.

"Correction." he says, adjusting the heat on the stove. "I'm cooking _us_ breakfast."

"Even better."

Addison stops just short of where he stands, suddenly unsure about her natural instinct to wrap her arms around him so she can lay her head on his back, in case it spooks him and he'll run away. _Run far far away from her._ When he turns to face her, he looks just as hesitant, only, he's actually brave enough to tell her - _no, show her_ \- what he wants.

And what he wants is to kiss her.

He does. Long and slow and impossibly perfect. The kind of kiss that makes her insides clench because it's that deliciously sweet. _Just like him_. He only pulls away when neither of them have enough air in their lungs left to keep going, and even then he steals a series of pecks with a boyish grin that makes her melt.

They eat breakfast and he takes her hand in the parking lot of the doctor's office and they hear their baby's heartbeat one more memorable time.

 _Perfect._

It's already the best day she's had in months.

* * *

And of course, the day, inevitably, has to end.

It's devastatingly disappointing when Addison wakes to an empty home, one where there's no smell of bacon wafting through the air or the sounds of pans clattering on the stove.

But Mark's back at work, surprising her - she knows he didn't tell her because he wanted to see her reaction and granted he did since she very visibly gleamed with a cheeky grin in the middle of rounds this morning when he very very purposely walked pass her patient's room. And she wasn't even the slightest embarrassed that she may or may not have looked like a fool.

Busy, his hours are ultra hectic now, with more surgeries than ever, but they're all more than okay with that and she knows she should be grateful - this way, she get to see him more often. But watching him from the gallery or a sneak peek into his office or a five minute break or having lunch or dinner or even breakfast with him or catching a glance as the elevator door closes isn't the same as receiving a lazy morning kiss and they both know it.

He comes over after shifts whenever he can, even if it's just for an hour or two and she lets herself fall asleep on the couch, snuggled into his chest after they've eaten desserts that he'd brought. She knows he doesn't ever allow himself to drift off too, but it's okay, she figures.

 _Baby steps._

Her stomach grows ever bigger and they go shopping for a stroller, a crib, a dresser, a gilder, a changing table, a wallpaper design. _Singular_. They choose them _together_ (it's _still a together even when he's just agreeing to all of her suggestions, right?_ ), all of the time avoiding the conversation regarding whether they'll need a second one of each item - one for her, one for him. _Because are they going to bring a child into this world where living between two homes is thought to be a normal family practice?_ They still have a little over two months to figure that one out, and Addison's promised herself she won't rush him.

Like most things in her life at this moment, that too, proves more difficult than she'd anticipated.

Mark goes with her to a birthing class that her OB strongly recommends her to attend. Her only question for her doctor was why would one of the foremost neonatal surgeons in the country need to take lessons from someone who knows nothing about maternal and fetal medicine like she does ( _Well, it wasn't as much of a question than a serious accusation. She's pregnant. She's cranky. She's hormonal. It's perfectly understandable for her to raise her voice, slightly.)._

But Mark insisted that they do go, just to test it out - if she doesn't like it, then she doesn't like it and they don't ever have to return - and she agreed, only because it'd give her a reason to touch him, feel him against her and she wants nothing more than to be close to him right now.

It's their first lesson and neither of them are really sure what to expect. Though she knows what they're going to do, it's just that it's different now since she's not the doctor here anymore.

Except, this class turns out to be nothing like _they_ , she had expected.

They spend the first fifteen minutes getting to know the other couples ( _unnecessarily, in Addison's opinion, but, hey, she's still new to this even though she's a neonatal surgeon and a_ _double board certified OB/GYN, sub-specialising in maternal-fetal medicine and fetal surgery_ , _and she doesn't want to seem rude._ ) during which they find out that everyone else has a name - or at least a few options - picked out, and knows the type of birth they want to have ( _well, that she knows since she's not opting for anything ridiculous and fancy - just a natural one at the hospital and hopes no c-section is in-lieu._ ). When it comes to Addison and Mark, he looks at her just as petrified and she begins babbling lies because she's embarrassed, because she's a fraud, an imposter, because she has all that credentials at the end of her name and she realises then that she knows nothing. _Nothing at all_. They're hardly even ready and they barely have anything planned out like all the other couples.

And so, she doesn't tell them that they're professionals, that they're doctors with an actual medical degree, that she doesn't need to be here because she's an OB/GYN and a neonatal surgeon, that she's a lot more qualified than that stupid bimbo who calls herself a birthing coach, that she's been assisting births, performing caesarean sections, repairing birth defects in wombs and giving newborns a second chance at life for a third of her existence, or whether she's carrying a boy or girl because it's no one else's business but theirs, or the fact that they haven't even discussed name options because she's running away now, very quickly, abruptly too, grabbing her stuff and she hears Mark's feverish footsteps behind her and his grip on her shoulder when she comes to a halt.

She shakes her head, not hearing a word he's saying - _Addie, what's wrong? -_ she closes her eyes, she doesn't want to cry and she definitely doesn't want to talk, so instead she blinks back tears like her mother had taught her to and demands that he take her home immediately.

He does. _No questions asked._ He drops her home, walks her inside of her brownstone and tells her he's going to stay, but she shakes her head. _No_. A hypocrite, she is. Because just when he wants to stay, she doesn't let him.

"Okay." he drops a kiss to her forehead, tells her he loves her and then leaves.

Different night. Same story.

* * *

One night things change, though. She's been uncomfortable all day at the hospital and when she goes to the locker room later that night to take a shower, thinking that would make her _un-uncomfortable,_ she feels a tightening squeeze in her lower abdomen. Her back is aching too, and when another pain coarses through her, she quickly finishes her shower and towels herself off. Heart pounding as she pulls on her pink scrubs. She's at the thirty-two week marker for the _anything-can-happen-at-this-point_ and has seriously waning sense of balance all morning. She's not about to jump to conclusions over it because she knows it could just be false labour. But there's still a feeling gnawing away at her that she needs to know everything is okay, and so she calls Mark, who's just upstairs and if she remembers correctly, finishing up with his evening rounds.

And no more than two minutes later, he comes barging into the locker room and she startles badly at the loudness but more so of the unwanted guests that he's brought along. Dr. ( _Pretty and blonde_ ) Emily Thorne and a nurse hurries over to her at the bench while she tries to assure them that she feels fine now, that the pain had subsided, that it was just Braxton-Hicks, that just because she's pregnant doesn't mean she has suddenly forgotten her training or that she's deemed incompetent. But the Chief and Mark wants to be thorough and so she gives up waving them off because she's really exhausted now and reluctantly agrees to Dr. Thorne squirting cold _cold_ gel on her sensitive bump and giving the boys the _A-Okay_.

She can tell Mark's still panicked and she smiles at him reassuringly, squeezes his hand that's on her shoulder when Cheif says he wants her to go home and rest and that Mark should go too.

"I'm going to stay with you tonight." he tells her in the presence of their colleagues and she can feel their knowing gaze on her like they too are waiting for her response. "If that's okay with you?" he adds, turning towards her as if there'd be even the slightest possibility she'd ever say no.

 _Well, that's because she did say no._

"Yes. Of course."

He takes her to her brownstone but not before Dr. Thorne insists she calls if she's worried about anything.

 _Truthfully, she've actually been worried for years._

It's a little awkward after that. Not because he's here or because this is the house that she once shared with her now-ex-husband or the fact that this couch is where _it_ all began for them, but because they're standing in the living room at least three feet apart when all they both really want to do is go to bed and lie in each other's arms.

"I'll take the couch." he tells her, and she feels her heart sink at the thought that he's going to be _here_ with her but over _there_ , so damn far away like he's been banished. In truth, she figures, he's banished himself. And she'll be upstairs in the guest bedroom because she can't sleep in _that_ room anymore, because it's just too painful. _Clothes, her delicate fabrics, tearing away from the closet. The sheets that he ripped from their king size._ _Bedroom door swinging open and the look of terror in Mark's eyes as he looked past her. She knows he heard them the second he stepped foot into their brownstone._ It doesn't feel right to enter that room anymore.

"Okay." she agrees, feet itching to go to him. They don't though. They turn her body in the opposite direction and head for the guest room.

She stays in bed alone for an hour or so, during which she listens to him grabbing a glass of water from the refrigerator, opening the closet near the bathroom to pull out the spare pillows and blankets, until she can't bare it any longer - the thought of him lying there alone when all either of them want is to be together.

She tiptoes into the darkness, reaching her fingers out for the light switch so she can see.

"Addison?" he questions, eyes blinking in the sudden brightness. "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah." she says quietly. "You should be in bed."

"Addie-"

"-Please just come to bed, Mark. Please..."

She can see the internal battle he's fighting and this is probably really unfair of her but she is carrying his child and she's made it this far without being truly, horribly selfish. _They've_ made it this far, all in and committed. He rises from the couch though, crosses over to her and seals his lips over hers, entwining their fingers so they enter the bedroom together.

He pulls back the covers, lets her settle on her back with her hair fanned out on the pillow before joining her, sinking into the mattress with a deep inhalation. It takes a while for her to get comfy - what with her stomach preventing her from lying in her favoured position - but she finally stops fidgeting once he's wrapped her up in his arms and buried his nose in her hair.

* * *

Over the next couple of weeks, he spends more nights at her place, and whether he experiences insomnia or not, she isn't too sure because he's always already awake by the time she is. She knows he wouldn't tell her the full extent if he did, but each time she wakes during the night, his eyes are closed and she's still lying in his arms.

He moves in to her place the week before her due date, and they're celebrating with pizza and Thai ( _both, because it was too difficult for her just to pick one._ ) when her water breaks. _Out of the blue_. It's almost comical, the timing of it, but they clean up quickly and grab the hospital bag they packed a few nights previously to take with them in his Macan.

Mark holds her hand as she breathes through each contraction with gritted teeth and sweat pouring down the back of her neck. He doesn't let go when she all but crushes his fingers with each push, nor when she's afforded a few moments of respite from the burning pain, or even when the doctor tells him he can come down and watch his child entering the world. _No_. He only lets go when she's handed their son, pink and screaming and perfect, so she can hold him against her chest as she cries with utter happiness that they've finally made it to this point.

Mark cries too. Just a couple of tears from each eye because he's so unbelievably proud and in awe of her that he can't find the words to express it. _I-love-you_ doesn't seem enough.

 _It'll never seem enough, somehow._

They don't tell everyone else right away. When he asks whether she wants him to call Archer or Savvy or her parents, she shakes her head because it's been so long that they've had this - this level of perfection and happiness - that she's more than okay for it just to be them for a while.

 _They've spent so long not being, after all._

So they sit together on the bed, all three nestled together like they don't have anywhere else they ever need to be. And it doesn't matter that they've never discussed names, or that their son won't get one for a week. It doesn't matter that there still are boxes of his stuff sitting in the living room of her brownstone awaiting a place in a drawer or a cupboard ( _temporarily, because they're going to find a place for themselves soon. Just the three of them to make new memories._ ). It doesn't even matter that they're only just a _them_ again, because they're going to be a them for the rest of their lives - Addison's sure of it.

* * *

 _ **Thank you all for reading and also for your amazing reviews! I've had the most fun writing this story. Really. You have no idea. Maddison is actually too cute! So adorable!**_

 _ **I**_ _ **do hope you enjoyed and please please review for the last time. I really**_ _ **never thought I'd enjoy these two as much as I did! Haha! Thanks so much for the support!**_

 _ **Please read my** Addek OneShots **(just posted a new chapter but somehow it's not cooperating)** **and show me some support there as well!**_


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